


we'll be alright, we have our looks and perfume on

by obiwamkenobbly (emmykay)



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Facial Shaving, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:41:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26236573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmykay/pseuds/obiwamkenobbly
Summary: Prompt:Brienne shaving Jaime.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 6
Kudos: 52





	we'll be alright, we have our looks and perfume on

**Author's Note:**

> Show canon only, and not well remembered.

"Is this the room?" Jaime asked the oldest boy of the three that accompanied him to the ruined tower. The boy looked at the ancient, bored-looking guard that stood in front of the enormous wooden door. 

"Is she in there?" Jaime asked. The guard nodded. "Open the door."

"I ain't stopping you." A snaggle-toothed grimace worked its way across the time-beaten face of the guard. He spat on the worn stone floor. "My lord."

Jaime banged on the door. 

After a moment, the heavy wooden door cracked open, a face peeked out into the shadowy hall. The flicker of torch light caught the brilliant blue of a single eye. "What is it?" Brienne asked.

"Can't I come visit?"

"No." She moved to close the door at the same time Jaime attempted to nudge the door open with his shoulder, his single forward step halted by the sheer immovability of the woman behind that door. 

"If I need to use the words, I will. I need your help."

"With what?" That single, brilliant blue eye didn't flinch when she asked.

"I need to shave. I've been wearing this bloody beard, and it's itchy even after the bath."

"Lord Bolton gave you a servant, didn't he?"

"As a matter of fact, he gave me three. But look at them, none old enough to shave himself." Jaime gestured at the boys, making sure she saw the covered stump.

She sighed. The door opened. He stood for a moment as his eyes became used to the light that came in through the window. "What are you wearing?" he asked, aghast. He knew he shouldn't react, but the tone was enough. He saw the blotchy flush rising over her exposed collarbone, up her broad homely face, all across that pale, freckled skin.

"A dress," she said shortly.

That dress was nothing less than horrific. He had seen her naked, he had seen her in armor, but to see her in this - by the Seven. He turned so he could pretend to hide his reaction to the poorly fitted pink thing, the way it strained over her broad shoulders, the way it failed to reach her ankles. 

"Put the things down and leave," he told the boys, who hesitated, looking between the two adults. 

The eldest one blinked, turning a questioning gaze to Brienne. Brienne nodded at them. "You may go."

"The servants I've been given turn to you for commands," Jaime mused. "Lose a hand and it's like they suddenly don't believe a word out of your mouth."

"You might be sorry you told them to leave," she said to Jaime as the door closed behind the servants. "I have never shaved anyone."

"You have two hands, you can handle a knife. You can shave me." He took a seat at a large container that served as a chair in the room.

She looked down at trays the boys had left. The implements included a short, thin, and wide blade set in an elaborate handle, a whetstone, a piece of leather, a few flasks, several towels, and a basin of water. She picked up the flasks, unstoppered them, and sniffed. 

"Would you wet one of the towels?"

She looked at him, unblinking. 

Clumsily, he did it himself, dunking the the cloth into the basin and then slapping the warm wet cloth on the lower half of his face. He watched as she tested the blade against her thumbnail, and then against the calloused skin of her palm. She picked up the whetstone and slowly began running the steel against the stone, the grinding noise loud in the silence between them. After a few passes, she tested the blade again. Satisfied, she began to wipe the blade against the leather, the rhythmic movements hypnotic to his eyes.

"I thought you didn't know how to shave anyone," he said, mesmerized at the way the blade glinted in the sun.

"I don't. I do know how to care for a knife." She tried it against the hair on her arm. 

He dropped the towel into his lap. "There should be oil in at least one of those bottles. Pour some into my hand." He extended his hand, and when she dribbed a few drops into his palm, rubbed the scented liquid against his face. After, he wiped his oily hand on the towel. He settled back on to the box, looking up at her expectantly. "I'm ready."

"You sure you don't want me to call for you to get another servant?" she asked, her voice calm. She stood next to him, the knife held out. The light off the knife shimmered, reflecting a tremor.

"They would just as soon cut off my head and call it an accident, an easy death for the Kingslayer."

"You aren't afraid of me doing the same?"

"I trust you," he said. 

She exhaled and the shimmer off the knife stopped. He gave her the barest of instructions; to hold skin taut over his face, to consider the angle of the blade, to start over his cheeks. She leaned toward him, her touch was light, even though her hands and fingers were near the same size as his. All he could see was the concentration of her eyes, such a deep blue they could swallow a man whole. 

"You should close your eyes," she said.

"Why?"

She did not reply, but the crease between her eyes deepened.

"I am perfectly happy to watch - "

"Stop talking." She hissed and jerked to her full height, the knife at her side. "You don't want to watch me cut you."

He stilled, but he kept his eyes open. After a moment of looking at him, she sighed and bent to her work. There was something to the care in which she took, scraping the edge of the blade over his skin, the knowledge that he had seen that very hand take lives, that Jaime was impossibly sensitive to. The breaths she took, puffed through her lips and nose, the intensity of her expression, suddenly became too much. He shut his eyes, aware of her touch, the scent of the oil as it rose to his nose, and the sounds of his own breathing. All along the way, the knife rasped over his cheeks, his chin, under his nose. Each careful stroke firing up nerves as the skin-warmed steel ran over his face, so he felt the need to clench his fist to calm himself. 

She paused. He opened his eyes to look. She was peering at his neck, knife held inches from his face. Her eyes were very blue. The knife gleamed in the light. He could feel the lift of both their chests in a shared breath. She began over the side of his neck. He fought the urge to swallow, as each scrape went over another vulnerable area. He wondered if she could see the pulse in his neck. He could definitely feel it, different than any other time he had been shaved. Was it because of what she could do? What could she do to him? Now? She could - she could - 

"That's it," she said with a sigh. He could feel the coolness of the air between them as she stepped away, dropping the knife onto a tray. She tossed a cloth on his shoulder, which he used to wipe his face.

"I've never been shaved by a woman before," he said, reaching up to run a hand over his face, newly sensitive with its shearing. He noted the patchier places, the spots she skimmed over. The last bit under his chin, was done much more confidently than the first attempt on his cheek. "Luckily, I still have both my nose on my face and my head on my neck." 

"With luck," she said, wiping her hands on a cloth, "I won't be shaving any more men."

Unannounced, the guard swung open the door. His yellowed eyes looked at the pair of them maliciously. "His lordship will see you. Now."

Jaime saw how Brienne's eyes lit upon the shaving knife, the sudden paleness in her skin, the tension in her arms. He moved between her and the knife. "Tell him we'll be there shortly."

The guard barely had left the door when she said, "I could -"

"No, you can't. The place is full of heavily armed men who want nothing more than an excuse to fight you, and you armed with only a shaving blade," he said. He offered her his arm. "Come on, now." 

She looked like he had offered her a third leg, not a perfectly good elbow.

He smiled at her, waiting until the color slowly leeched back to her skin. He waggled his elbow at her.

Reluctantly, she took his arm. 

"All right, then," he said and nodded at her. He waited until she nodded in response. "Let's go." 


End file.
